


madness

by kittenscully



Series: fictober 2020 [29]
Category: The X-Files
Genre: (Very mild), Banter, F/M, Fluff, Friendship, Implied/Referenced Sexual Assault, Post-Episode: s03e13 Syzygy, Season/Series 03
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-29
Updated: 2020-10-29
Packaged: 2021-03-09 05:54:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,487
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27269791
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kittenscully/pseuds/kittenscully
Summary: If she were more like her sister, or more like Mulder, she’d blame it on lunar influence. Planetary alignments. The Pisces horoscope she’d read, and scoffed at, that morning.[fictober day 29]
Relationships: Fox Mulder/Dana Scully
Series: fictober 2020 [29]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1949467
Comments: 2
Kudos: 55





	madness

**Author's Note:**

> Prompt: "Unacceptable, try again."

Midnight makes the winter air frigid, the moon high in the dark, clear sky. Below, Scully sits alone behind the wheel of a rental car, on her way to Mulder’s apartment. 

It’s not as if she has anything to apologize for, mind you. Nor, particularly, does she want an apology from him. 

If she were more like her sister, or more like Mulder, she’d blame it on lunar influence. Planetary alignments. The Pisces horoscope she’d read, and scoffed at, that morning.  _ You may find that a conflict needs resolution. Trust your instincts at this time. _

Nonsense, of course. 

She’s driving to Mulder’s for the same reason as every other time – because she has nothing better to do, and he’s undoubtedly awake, too. And she’s knocking on his door because that’s the polite way to pay a visit, regardless of his persistent overuse of her key. 

The hallway of his building is cold, and Scully tucks her nose into the buttoned-up collar of her coat as she waits. 

She does not make note of the fact that it is exactly twenty-four hours after the alleged syzygy. 

“Scully,” he says, as the door swings open. 

“Mulder.”

Inside, it’s only slightly warmer, but she sheds her coat anyway. She might be a guest here, but only barely, and she intends to make herself at home.

“To what do I owe the pleasure?” He remarks, dryly. 

“You sure know how to make a girl feel welcome, Mulder,” she shoots back. 

Looking up, Scully finds him grinning, and even though she doesn’t smile back, she feels a wash of relief. Whatever strange tension that had formed between them in the madness of the past few days has clearly dissipated. 

She can’t stay angry with him, it seems. And she doesn’t really want to. 

“Couldn’t sleep, huh?”

And his hand swoops to her lower back, guiding her into his living room. She ought to chastise him for his nerve, but she won’t. When has she ever?

“Well, that’s the problem with red eye flights,” she says, raising an eyebrow. 

“Diet jet lag,” he finishes for her automatically, nodding.

“Exactly.”

“It was the best option,” he shrugs. “Either that or wasting a Saturday.”

Every Saturday is a waste regardless, these days. No one she’s interested in calling or visiting, just an empty apartment and a sense of pride making her keep her distance from Mulder, at least for one day out of the week. 

But he doesn’t need to know that.

“I suppose you couldn’t sleep either,” she comments.

“Oh, Scully,” he sighs, shaking his head. “You know I never sleep.”

“Oh, of course.”

They settle on opposite ends of the couch. Far easier to talk with space to turn towards each other, Scully figures. And it can’t hurt to keep a safe distance, either. 

“Besides.” He points at the TV, which is muted as an advertisement for laundry detergent scrolls by. “There’s Twilight Zone reruns on. I almost called to tell you.”

“Ah. The truth is revealed.”

“Guess I can stop searching now.”

“Very funny, Mulder.”

As he fumbles for the remote to unmute, turning his laser focus back to the screen.

Scully, for her part, kicks off her shoes and crosses her legs Indian-style, reaching for the Mexican blanket draped over the back of the couch. Her visits to Mulder’s apartment may have gotten less frequent since adopting Queequeg, but it’s impossible not to feel at home here. 

It’s something about how trusting he is, she thinks. 

There’s no sense of being monitored, not even when he observes her in that curious way, no sense that anything in the place is off limits. He doesn’t perform for her, either, just goes about his life, sometimes incorporating her into it and sometimes acting as if she isn’t even there. 

The result is an easy kind of comfort that Scully’s never experienced with anyone else.

Watching him watch the episode, she wonders, absentmindedly, whether this feeling is a normal occurrence for other people. 

At the next ad break, he mutes and turns to look at her. 

“So, why are you really here?” 

“Do I need a reason?” She deflects. 

“Well, no,” he says. “But that doesn’t mean you don’t have one.”

She doesn’t, not really. But humoring him is better than admitting out loud that she’d missed him.

“Why do you think I’m here, Mulder?”

Tossing his feet up onto the coffee table, he rubs his neck and pretends to consider, keeping her fixed with his gaze the whole time. 

“Well, I suppose you might want an apology,” he suggests, and she snorts.

“I wouldn’t be opposed.”

She isn’t angry, but that doesn’t make him any less of an ass in hindsight, and he could probably do with a bit of humility. 

“I mean, I didn’t reciprocate.”

“What?”

“When you stumbled upon Detective White and I in a compromising position,” he explains. “That was all her. She practically tackled me, Scully. Full moon madness.”

“Mulder,” she says, slowly. “I’m not mad about that, no matter how I reacted at the time. You have every right, as two consenting adults.”

She has no claim over him in this capacity, a fact which had been made explicitly clear not so long ago with Dr. Berenbaum.  _ Bambi. _

Besides, it’s irrelevant. There isn’t anyone else he lets in the way he does her, and thus, no real threats anywhere.

“We weren’t, though.”

“Weren’t what?”

“We weren’t two consenting adults,” he says, seriously, meeting her eye. “I flirted with her to piss you off, sure. But I didn’t want it to go any farther than that.” 

Scully’s eyes widen. For all extents and purposes, she’d walked in on an assault in progress. 

A surge of righteous indignation at the notion makes her sit up straighter, and she bites her tongue to avoid a very unpleasant comment from slipping out. As always, she thinks of Phoebe, of his wide, trusting eyes. 

“That’s completely inappropriate, Mulder,” she comments, after a long moment.

“Eh, I was drunk,” he says, dismissively. “And it’s probably a stupid thing to pick apart. But I wanted you to know.”

“It’s not stupid at all.”

She’s every bit as serious as him, and as he unmutes the TV again, she hopes he knows that. A small, creeping guilt for her behavior begins in the back of her throat, and she ignores it. 

In the blue-gray light from the screen, he is restless and fascinating. Strong jaw loosened enough that his lips part, just a little, pent up motion evident even in his slouch.

Scully catches herself staring, and directs her gaze distractedly to the show before he notices.

Apologizing for her jealousy would take admitting that she’d felt it in the first place, and she can’t, not without crossing the line that lets her be close with him like this, stumbling to his apartment in the middle of the night to do nothing at all.

And if she couldn’t have this, she wouldn’t know what to do with herself. 

Mulder’s her best friend, she realizes. He likely has been for a long time. 

“You know,” she says, as the episode comes to an end. “You did admit to pissing me off on purpose back there.”

“Did I?”

“Mmhm.”

“Don’t remember that.” He scratches his head with the remote, and she suppresses a smile. 

“How convenient.”

Another lazy grin, and she has to avert her eyes before her cheeks get warm.

Without warning, he drags himself up off of the couch, momentum propelling him towards the kitchen. 

“Want a beer?”

He’s too charming for his own good, and she likes him far too much for hers.

“I want an apology,” she calls lightly. 

The fridge slams audibly, and he charges back into the living room, tossing himself onto the couch with two beers clutched in a single hand. 

Bouncing a little with the impact, Scully reaches for hers, but he stops her. 

Setting the lip of one of the bottles against the edge of coffee table, he pops the lid off with a flourish, and then hands it to her. 

“Voila.”

“What a gentleman,” she deadpans. 

“I do my best.”

“How about showing remorse?” She asks, hiding her smile with the beer bottle. “Do you do that?”

“You really want an apology, huh?”

“I do,” she says. 

“How’s this, Scully,” he says, popping off his own cap and then stretching himself out theatrically on his side of the couch. “Due to rare celestial alignments which caused tremors nearing a five-point-oh on the Richter Scale – and the murderous rage of two teenage dreams shockingly  _ not _ named Heather – may have caused me to indulge in some conduct unbecoming of a gentleman.”

“And?”

“And what?” Mulder demands. “That was it. I apologized.”

“Unacceptable, try again.”

He eyes her amusedly, and she crushes her lower lip between her teeth, suppressing the irrational laugh that threatens to spill out. 

“Drink your beer, Scully.”


End file.
